


The Ferrari Boy

by JenniKirschtein



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angels, Angst, Archangels, Bisexuality, Death, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angels, Friendship, High School, Humor, Lesbian Character, Love, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:10:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniKirschtein/pseuds/JenniKirschtein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keanu Wantanabe never expected anything exciting to happen in her life...until the Accident, in which her best friend was brutally slaughtered, but she miraculously survived. Destined to start again, Keanu's parents force her to move from her childhood home in North Dakota to a small town in Florida, in high hopes of getting Keanu back to normal. But, the dangers of her past still lurk...and they always will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story I wrote when I was 12 years old. I reread it and then decided I wanted to rewrite it. This isnt a fanfic, this is an original story of mine. I really enjoy the plot, and it's been stuck in my head ever since I wrote this stupid thing over five years ago. Hope you enjoy >.

We drove. After being cramped in the car for at least 20 hours (with the minimal pit stops to pee and fill up the tank) from North Dakota, we finally reached our destination: Florida. The Sunshine State. Bleh.

            After the Accident happened last year, my family declared our home of my childhood “haunted by memories”—No, _really_?—and we should live with Aunt Judy in Florida, in some small, ho-dunk town. So, being a teenager in my prime, sweet, _sweet_ seventeen, I had to pop up my peace sign and say “deuces” to my lifetime friends, my boyfriend of two years, and the house I grew up in. We painted my light pink walls with tally pencil marks from marking my height growing up, scratches from come-and-gone posters, and basically anything to show the presence that a happy feminine soul lived there, a dull, blank white. I recall staying in my room that looked like a new canvas as my father and the movers shove my childhood into seven cardboard boxes and throw it into a U-Haul like it was nothing. I avoided the window so I wouldn’t see it occur, and I wound up lying in the middle of the metal bedframe, as if my bed was there, and stare up at the white ceiling. My vision had blurred as I slowly came to realize what had happened. It was my fault that we had to pack up everything and quickly leave. I never met my Aunt Judy, but now we’ll be staying with her until Dad can buy a place. If I hadn’t gone with Rebekah that night…

            I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. Joni, the police officer who handled my case, told me that I shouldn’t think about it. I have to start over, and Florida is my palm tree covered, salt-smelling getaway from every event that happened. Though, my life has been completely ordinary besides the Accident. Bismarck, North Dakota isn’t some glamorous place, and everyone you knew in kindergarten would be together with you through life. My mother always figured that was a blessing, and that Bismarck was a giant family, but for me, it was boring. I had friends, of course, and Rebekah had been my best friend. We grew up together, but that is the norm for Bismarck. I was dating a guy since my sophomore year of high school, and Rebekah was dating his best friend, naturally. The guys played on the soccer team, and were popular in school. Rebekah and I were nothing, we were just lucky, I suppose. We gagged at the idea of joining any clubs or sports, and we were joined at the hip so we didn’t need anyone else.

            Though that just shows how alone I am now that she’s gone.

            I focused my gaze so I was staring out the window, and I watched the palm trees that waved like a new friend in the blur of green as we drove at the speed of “too slow for Keanu’s liking”. My legs were cramping up so I shifted my weight to the other side, as I have been doing for the last million years.

“I gotta pee,” I whined, peering in between the driver and passenger seat of the small Honda.

“You literally just went,” said my mom, who was playing Candy Crush on her iPhone, the new wondrous technology she acquired before we left.

“If I _literally_ just went, there’d be pee all over the backseat,” I huffed, pulling out my own piece of technology and sticking my tongue out, snapping a quick photo to send to Brandon, my boyfriend. I captioned it “ _I need to pee like a racehorse bruh rip @ me_ ”. I sighed and began to scroll through Tumblr for the thousandth time—like, why wasn’t anyone online when I was?—before slipping it back into the pocket of my skinny jeans.

“We have to get gas in a couple miles anyway. We’ll be getting to North Port soon, so we’ll stop.” Dad replied, ignoring my comment about urinating in the car. Glancing in the rearview mirror to see my face that had contorted into a grimace, he smiled. “You’ll love it here, Keys.”

            I just nodded and focused on the passing greenery. Palm tree, palm tree, palm tree, other type of tree that an average citizen wouldn’t care to know, palm tree, palm tree…

            I already hate it here.

            Back in Bismarck, everything was closed in. We didn’t have a lot of wilderness or blank, open spaces. We were always in the city; we always had the crowd of familiar faces. It was boring, but it was comfortable.  I spent seventeen years figuring out the people of Bismarck, and now I have to do it all over again.

“‘North Port Welcomes You’, oh, how nice,” Mom commented as we passed a stone fountain with brass cranes doing some weird cult-like stance around the water. My father pulled to the side, and I quickly jumped out, much to my regret. My legs felt like jelly, and as soon as I stepped out of the Honda Shit-vic, my knees buckled and I fell flat on my butt.

“I want a picture.” Dad said, pulling out his phone, “Keanu, stand by the crane statue. Smile. No. Smile. Don’t give me the finger, young lady. Pretend to look happy. Thank you.”

            I faked a smile as Dad’s phone clicked. Inching away from the crane cult, I couldn’t help but sigh as I retrieved the phone in order to take a picture of my nerdy parents.

“Smile,” I instructed, angling the camera at my parents. “Say, ‘Florida sucks!’”

“Keanu sucks!” My dad sneered, grinning wildly, his hand clutching my mother’s thin waist.

            My parents were the literal definition of love. They’ve been married for about 25 years, and they’re still as in love with each other as if it was the first year of marriage. My dad was Asian, and he was on the shorter side. He had thin black hair and almond-shaped black eyes. He didn’t have any wrinkles, except for the small crows’ feet on the outside corner. My mother was American, and she had thick, wavy brown hair that came to her shoulders and bangs that hung above her eyes. Both of my parents were in their forties, but my dad’s family has a track record of looking 30 at the age of 1,005, so my mother looked older than my dad, even though he was 3 years older.

            Being Asian-American gives me unique features, and I’m not exactly gorgeous, but I’m not ugly either. My eyes are almond shaped like my father’s, but they’re hazel like my mother’s. My skin is white, but I’m not pale. I’m as tall as my dad, which saying that makes it seem like I’m the Jolly Green Giant, but I’m only five-foot-four. My body is that of any typical Asian: small waist, no boobs, no butt, but my skin is flawless. It’s embarrassing to be an A-cup at the age of seventeen, but that’s my reality and the cons of being Asian-American. I hate my hair, because it’s thin and silky like Dad’s, but it’s an ugly brown color, like the color of powdered brownie mix.

_Click._

            “Y’all look lame,” I joked, handing the phone back to Dad. “I feel like a tourist.”

            “We’re not tourists, we’re _residents_!” Mom giggled, throwing her arm around my shoulders and giving me a one-armed squeeze. I groaned.

            I, Keanu Jo Wantanabe, am a Floridian.

            After piling back into the Civic, filing up the gas tank at 7-Eleven and all of us taking turns relieving our bladders, we were driving down the main road of Sumter Blvd, which was winding and under construction, causing my mom to gasp and crush my dad’s hand, hissing curses under her breath. I kept glancing at my phone, knowing that I still haven’t got a text back from Brandon. I thought about texting him again, but I decided against it, because he was probably busy. The timezones are different, anyhow. Before leaving, I asked Brandon what we’ll do about our relationship. He always kissed me and said he loved me, but after the Accident, he kissed me noticeably less and only responded to my sayings of “I love you”. I figured he was just traumatized because Rebekah was his friend too, and he didn’t comprehend what really happened. I still barely remember that night, and Rebekah’s case is still open.

            Rebekah’s murder sent Bismarck into a frenzy, a witch hunt, a wild goose chase. I was questioned several times, even though I myself was in the hospital for a week after the Accident. People seemed to forget I was a victim too. Even though I was the last person to see Bekah alive, and I witnessed her demise, though couldn’t recall anything of it, people didn’t fail to pin me as the murderer. The police believed me, but public opinion seems to be the true judicial system in Bismarck. After we started getting glares in public, and I became more and more depressed, Joni and my parents arranged the move from Bismarck to North Port. Bismarck is my home, and I didn’t want to move. I didn’t care that some of the people thought I was a killer. I wasn’t. I don’t know who was, and I probably will be haunted by that ghost for the rest of my life.

            I took a deep breath and blinked, counting to ten. The shrink told me I shouldn’t think about the Accident, and suggested that I count and occupy my mind elsewhere. Officer Joni told me to never forget Rebekah, but then contradicted herself by saying I should restart my life. She talked about it like it was nothing, like resurrecting my teenage life after my best friend’s murder was as easy as pressing restart on a Nintendo game. I knew Officer Joni loved working the case, because the most violent crime to take place in her career before Rebekah was a doddering, ancient, loony lady trying to escape from the nursing home. Since Bismarck was small, crime rate was close to none. I guess that’s why the town became obsessed with Rebekah. We all wanted to catch the guy who killed Bekah, and attacked me, but I think that the town wanted to milk out the drama as much as they could. It seemed that Rebekah’s passing was more interesting than the actual Rebekah that I knew.

            I couldn’t fathom the idea of losing her. We always had the same classes together since kindergarten, and we connected immediately. Rebekah was average, blonde hair, blue eyes; a typical Hitler favorite, except the fact her family was Jewish. Rebekah and I shared everything, and after her death, I couldn’t actually remember whose shirt was who’s when Rebekah’s family and I were cleaning her room out. Her family loved me like a third daughter (Rebekah had a younger sister), and my family loved Rebekah like a second daughter. She lived down the street from me, so we always hung out, and our families got along great, so it never mattered where we were. Rebekah would be at my house for weeks, without ever going home, and vice versa. It was like we had two houses and two families. It was a friendship you could only hear about in B-rated teenage romantic comedy movies. It was the perfect life. It was nothing fancy, just a simple life with a best friend. What more could I ask for?

            The only thing I could ask for is a redo on that night.

            _One, two, three._

            Bekah’s screaming.

_Four, five, six._

            Blood everywhere.

            _Seven, eight, nine…_

            “Keanu, are you okay?” Mom asked, her body shifted around so she could face me. After managing a small nod, she smiled and patted my knee with her fingertips. “Great! We’ll be home in five minutes.”

_Home._

            Home was a light blue house in Bismarck that had a basement with dusty old books and beanbag chairs that had holes in it. Home was going on double dates, me and Brandon, Rebekah and Dustin. Home was where I attended soccer games and threw popcorn at people who yelled at Rebekah for cheering too loud whenever Dustin scored. Home was staying up until three in the morning, watching anime and laughing at our blogs on Tumblr. Home was in Bismarck.

            This will _never_ be my home.


	2. Bailey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keanu (pronounced "key-ON-uh") discovers her new house, and a new person is introduced yay
> 
> Sorry this chapter is kinda short idk

Home is where the heart is, and for some unknown reason, I was living without a heart.

            We pulled into the driveway of a one-story white house with grey stucco markings where one would assume held window panes or flower boxes. The roof had black shingles that barely clung on, and the garage door was painted white, and by the looks of it, it was freshly painted, due to it being cleaner and brighter than the rest of the house. The yard had grass that was dead in some spots, and three palm trees were planted at the corner of the yard.

            I carefully stepped outside the vehicle, resting my palm on the door frame. Gazing at the house, my stomach dropped at the sight of it. This place was a dump, a total downgrade from my home in Bismarck. My old house was two-story, was painted light baby blue with two symmetrical white columns that guarded the glass door with a shiny golden knob. Inside my home, it had dark wooden floors that you could slide on in your socks. Mom loved our kitchen because it was so spacious, with a huge marble island in the middle, with her vast collection of Paula Dean pans that hung from the ceiling.

            My room was my paradise. I had my walls pink, with anime wall scrolls, posters advertising the hottest band members and pop singers, the best movies, and pictures of my favorite people and things. I had a corkboard that Rebekah bought me one year for Christmas, and I pinned photos of us, movie tickets, concert tickets, dried flowers, and other small cute things on it. Now that corkboard was my prized possession and my last thing my parents allowed me to keep after Rebekah’s death. My bed was queen sized with black covers and pink pillows, of course with enough stuffed animals on it to please an entire orphanage. My walk-in closet was shared with Rebekah, because we never remembered who borrowed what. We just took whatever and gave it back whenever. We combined everything and shared it.

            I shook my head, staring at the huge downgrade that was the new house.

“Home, sweet home,” Dad sighed, shutting the car door. “Like it, Keys?”

“Uh,” I stammered, my eyebrow raised, “Is this a joke? Will freakin’ Ty Pennington pop out, say ‘Just kidding, move the bus, move this house’, or whatever and we get a decent place?”

“Keanu Jo!” Mom scolded from the back of the car, where she was unloading the trunk. “And to think I was going to allow you to pick your room. You can sleep outside if you hate this house that fucking much.”

            I closed my eyes, counting to ten silently. I hated Florida. I hated this house. This neighborhood looked awful, with houses peeling with paint and the lawns disgusting. Luckily, this place seemed to be able to stand a gentle breeze, unlike the other houses on the block.

“Can I go check it out?” I asked, trying to hide my peaking curiosity. As disgusting as this house was, I still wanted to see what I’d be forced to reside in until I graduate high school.

            Before even getting an answer, I snatched the keys from my father’s surprised hand and walked hurriedly to the house.

            Cracking open the door and peeking inside, I looked around the empty house. It was very spacious, but that’ll change when we get some furniture in here. The walls were a dusty pink, and you could smell the cigarette smoke from the previous owners hanging in the air. The floors had dark grey carpet. I walked around, taking in the house. As soon as you walked in, you were in the living room. A few more steps and you were in the dining room, and a wall separated the living room and kitchen. A spare room was in the back, painted bright neon green. Ugly. The hallway was thin, only wide enough to put my hands out and my fingertips touch the walls. There were three bedrooms, one bathroom in the hallway and the other bathroom in the master’s bedroom. One bedroom was painted dark blue, another light purple—assuming they were the kids’ rooms once upon a time—and the master bedroom was painted white, but since the previous owners smoked in the house, it was a dingy grey. I crossed the hall and stood in the purple room. It was larger than the blue room, but smaller than the master bedroom.

“Dibs!” I yelled as loud as I could, hoping my parents could hear me from outside.

“Glad you found a room you liked.” A voice said from behind me.

            I quickly turned around, my heart slamming in my chest as I hissed a stream of obscenities between my clenched teeth. My dad was standing in the doorway grinning like a short Asian man when he discovered his kid got an A+ on a math test. He had two suitcases in his hands. I heard bustling in the kitchen, probably Mom unpacking her precious Paula Dean pots.

“It’s okay.” I grumbled.

“Sure it is, Miss Grumpy Gills.” Dad chuckled, “go into the car and get your bags. The movers will be here tomorrow morning with the rest of the furniture. We’ll be sleeping in a hotel tonight since we don’t have beds.”

“Didn’t your _people_ sleep on like, bamboo mats?” I teased, stepping closer to him and punching his arm. He rolled his eyes.

“That’s horribly racist, Keanu,” he said. “We slept inside our nail salons, rice shops, and Kung-Fu studios,” he added with a laugh. I giggled before my father left, instructing me to unpack some things before we went to the hotel for the night.

            I was unloading the car, two backpacks on each shoulder and two suitcases in each hand—I’d rather suffer through one trip than actually do multiple ones—and attempting to shut the trunk when a hand reached out from behind me and shut it. I was about to turn and thank my father when I noticed the hand had black fingernails.

“Who—?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat. I spun around to see a tall girl, like Victoria-Secret-model tall.

            She looked older than me, with long, thick bottle-black hair that was curled to perfection, unlike my straight, thin poop-brown hair. Her eyes were an intense green, glowing bright underneath Maybelline-commercial lashes. She had killer cheek bones and big, lush lips that were smeared with dark burgundy gloss. This girl was _gorgeous._ Her style was a bit different than what I was used to in North Dakota; black high heeled boots, black leather pants that clung to her toned legs, a black t-shirt that read “I Don’t Trust People That Don’t Meow Back At Their Cats”, with the sleeve hanging off her shoulder. Her left arm was covered with tattoos, of some mixed design that looked like roses, birds, and feathers. Nevertheless, this woman seemed to be unreal.

“Hello,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry to scare you.”

            Something about her was absolutely charming. I automatically leaned into her just hearing her voice, but there was a twist in my gut, almost like an imaginary force was pulling me back. This girl was not good.

“Who are you?” I snapped, my body automatically taking a step back, only to bump into the trunk of the car. The bags on my arms felt heavy, and my knee twitched, as if saying _run_.

“Bailey. Bailey Krypton. Need to see my ID, officer?” She laughed again. When I didn’t return even a smile, she furrowed her perfect brows and pointed to the house. “You just moved in.” She didn’t say it like a question, but I nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “My dad fought in Iraq, you know, the marines?” I frowned at her, my instincts telling me to make sure she knew what my family was capable of.

“Cool, cool. Listen, are you going to enroll into the high school soon? You’re a senior, right?”

I nodded again, setting the heavy luggage on the ground by my feet.

“See you at school then.” Bailey replied bluntly, her black-painted fingernails gently grasping my upper arm. “Keanu.”

“How do you—?” I began to ask when my father’s voice boomed from the front porch.

“Jesus Christ on a cracker, what is taking you so long? Mom already put away two boxes of kitchen stuff. We got to hit the road soon, kid. Let’s hustle a little bit!”

            I sighed, turning back around to pick up the bags.

            Bailey was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh 2spoopy4me

**Author's Note:**

> Haha so I hope you liked the first chapter. Im sorry if it's boring :^: I just really wanted to leave some room for stuff, and hopefully I'll figure this out soon. Hahaha yeah I'm sorry lol


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